Inmate 143
by Chris Russo
Summary: Zander Reeve was a soldier of fortune until the day he was captured and placed in a POW camp. There he underwent a transformation that would change his life forever.


Escape

A cold breeze blew through the vast wastelands of Alveron-III. No regular animals were within sight. In this dark, abandoned wasteland, nothing survives for long. The nights are too cold, the days too hot. Even if you can survive nature in her harshest form, the other creatures of night and day will prey on you forevermore, so desperate for food that anything is a full-course meal.

The moon slips from behind a cloud, casting pale white light upon these endless not-quite-yet wastelands. A faint glimmer of light at the edge of the horizon is visible, the glow reflecting off the dark clouds that almost constantly envelope the night.

And then, the moon sneaks back behind a cloud, leaving behind blackness again. But only for a moment it moves back into view, showing the fields one last time before slipping into an eclipse.

In the center these God-forsaken wastelands lay a single sheet-metal structure. It was the most infamous maximum-security prison for the Prisoners of War, traitors, military murderers, and even the soldiers so accomplished that their corrupt superiors were afraid of being kicked out of their job in favor of them. So they were disposed of with trumped-up charges and hung juries. The prison had so many death penalties that the prisoners who lived long enough in this little slice of Hell to get used to the routine called it 'Death's Front Door.'

On the walls, guards nervously clutched their Blaster Rifles, waiting for the inevitable riot that was going to happen tonight. A prison informant has told the guards that a riot was set to begin near midnight, and the fateful hour was close. It wasn't often that riots were put down without at least one dead guard.

The guards had been issued with real ammo, not the crappy stun rounds that only slowed an inmate down. Not that the guards really thought it would help much. Horrible budget planning had left the staff ten men short, and it quickly became apparent that the prisoners were slowly gaining ground. Reinforcements had been sent for weeks ago, but no return message had been sent. For good reason, the guards were close to desertion, with only increased rations to keep them in place.

On each corner of the prison walls, bulletproof glass walls encased pairs of technicians that were almost constantly running the delicate instruments that ran half of the tasks at the prison. Without them, the convicts would have taken control long ago. It gave the technicians a certain perverse pride knowing that their handiwork kept convicted traitors and killers from striking again.

An older guard on the walls nervously grasped his gun, checking the straps of his helmet out of paranoia. His shift was over as soon as he checked on the prisoners one last time. Then he could take refuge in the heavily fortified guard quarters, safe from anything that happened. He waved to his replacement that was heading mournfully up the metal stairs, his heavy boots sending up groans of protest from the old, rusted steel with each step.

The old guard began his way down the stairs that had been hollowed out in the crumbling concrete to his left, shivering slightly as the cold once again bit into his skin despite the heavy clothing. He saw his breath condense in front of him, and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. He tossed the butt on the ground, grinding it with the toe of his boot. The ashes were quickly flung away by the wind. He headed deeper into the prison, toward the convict's cells. Dimly glowing lights lit the long hallway, with cells on his left and blank, unforgiving wall on his right. He raised his rifle as he neared the first cell door, and banged the butt of his gun against the steel. He got an expletive in reply as the convict was jerked awake.

A smile tugged at the corners of the old guard's mouth as he did the same in rapid succession, each time getting the same result. As he reached the end of the row, however, he smacked a door and got no result. Frowning, he repeated the blow, only to get nothing again. He crouched, and slid back the mail-flap sized door, careful to stand to the side in case a stabbing instrument was thrust through.

Nothing was pushed through. He straightened, slid back his cap, scratched his head, and knelt again. He pushed his eyes against the door, and glanced inside. He cursed loudly as he saw the body hanging suspended from a noose, much to the other prisoner's delight.

"You got robbed of another, you motherfucker!"

"Little boy couldn't stand the pressure! What a pussy!"

"Couldn't find his balls, could he?"

Some just laughed maniacally, having lost their sanity long ago. The guard quickly pulled out his radio and called in someone to pick up the body. He received an acknowledgment, and stashed the radio. He reached into his other pocket, fished a pair of keys from it, and unclipped them from the zipper. He sorted through them, becoming more and more irritated as he was screamed insults at. He kept his calm, however, knowing that if he screamed back at them it would only encourage them further.

Finally, he found the cell master key and swiped it into the panel bolted to the concrete on the left of the cell. He pushed a thumb on quickly, and felt a quick twinge as it scanned his print and extracted DNA. Confirmed of his identity, the computer opened the cell door. The old guard slid it back, and moved toward the hanging body.

The man was hanging suspended on torn pieces of sheeting from his bed. The edges were tied around the bars on his window. Despite the fact that the window was at neck height for the convict, he had somehow managed to force himself to jam his legs beneath him and push against the wall so they couldn't fall down when he passed out.

"Well, shit," the guard muttered, pushing back his hat and scratching his head again. The warden wouldn't be happy about this, no sir. "I better cut this bastard down."

The guard slid his knife from the sheath on his belt and reached behind the convict's neck with it. He felt a lump beneath his fingers. The guard let confusion show on his face. Then he realized. The lump was the convict's fist, grasping the two sides of the sheet around his neck. He had tightened the sheet around his neck in the front by pulling on the sides. But he had plenty of space in the back, allowing him to breathe quite well. It had to have taken enormous strength to hold him up and still while the guard got close, but now he had fallen right into the trap.

"Hello, officer," a rough voice whispered in his ear. "Thanks for getting the door for me."

The old guard felt the prisoner reach around and grasp him by the neck, and pull sharply. His head twisted around past normality, and he heard a quick, brutal snap.

There's supposed to be pain, isn't there? The guard thought before falling to the ground and blacking out.

The prisoner looked down at the dead guard's body, with the head grotesquely twisted the wrong way. He quickly flipped the body over, and rooted through the pockets. He commandeered the guard's rifle with some clips, strapped on the coat, hat, and bulletproof vest. He then removed the knife and belted it on. After some hesitation, he also took the ring of keys. He walked out the cell, but hesitated. He turned, and, fumbling the knife, knelt over the guard's body once again. He sawed his way through the muscle and tendons at the base of the guard's thumb, cutting it off. He stashed the amputated thumb in his pocket.

Finally leaving the cell, he slammed the door shut behind him. It would buy him some time before the guard coming to clean up realized he had killed the old guard and sounded the alarm. Meanwhile, however, the convicts still in their cells were jeering at the now-dead old guard.

"I can't believe he got away with it!"

"Lucky bastard got away!"

"WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP?! I'M GOING TO GET YOU OUT OF HERE!"

Yelling and screaming stopped abruptly except for the insane ones, who continued to laugh. The prisoner sighed with relief. He took the master card key, swiped it through the panel, and stuck the thumb into the scanner. Instantly, all the doors swung open. Prisoners stepped out, not completely believing it had happened. Then one grinned wickedly.

"Let's go pay back those assholes that held us in here," he said with devilish glee. All the other prisoners gave a roar of agreement, and they stampeded for the guard quarters. A group of guards, attracted by the noise, wheeled around the corner and gave a cry of alarm. They formed up, called it backup on their radios, and began to fire. The first wave of prisoners faltered and fell, but the rest kept running, screaming at the top of their lungs.

The convict silently swung around the corner at the opposite end of the hall, preferring not to be sucked into chaos. He raised his rifle, and slowly made his way up the stairs, taking care to listen behind him for sounds that the other foolish prisoners had been defeated. It sounded more like the small squad of guards had been killed. The convict quickened his pace. Now that the other prisoners had weapons, a prison-wide war could erupt at any moment.

He reached the top of the wall, peeking over the edge of the wall shielding the stairs from view. More guards were running in the opposite direction, apparently attempting to reach the guard quarters for a stronghold to protect.

Smart, but ultimately an ultimately futile move. With no escape, they would inevitably either be picked off or run out of food and water and be forced to make a suicidal charge into the prison to take it back under control. While the guard barrack undoubtedly had a supply of food and water stashed in it in case of an emergency such as the one occurring now, the prisoners had the resources of the entire prison.

The prisoner doubted that reinforcements would miraculously appear out of nowhere during this time. Still, he had to make sure there was no chance at all. These issues also coincided with his own. He slowly made his way across the way, cautious for any guards or spotlights that would spot him and open fire.

Scattered, faint gunshots rang out all around the prison as resistance was met. The convict quickened his pace even more. The battle was starting to spread, making it even more imperative to accomplish his goal. No doubt techs were watching the security cams, locking down key sections of the prison to slow down the rebellion for a while. He reached the other side of the wall, and slung his rifle across his back after making sure the safety was on. He grasped the metal ladder bolted onto the concrete, and began to climb, glancing down every now and then to see if he had been spotted.

He reached the top with no incident and knelt, moving slowly below the windows the techs were behind. He reached the door, and stood quickly, making sure the guard's cap on his head covered most of his face. He pounded frantically on the window, yelling for help. The tech looked up quickly, terrified, but sagged with relief when they saw the guard uniform. One quickly ran to the door and palmed it open.

"Thank god," he gasped. "There's a huge rebellion, and we could use your-"

The rest of the sentence was cut off as the convict took the rifle in his hands, flicked off the safety, and opened fire, careful to miss the instruments that ran the prison. The two techs took multiple rounds in the head, splattering blood, bone, and bits of brain all over. Grimacing, the convict gathered up the bodies and threw them over the walls, into the field. They hit the ground with a sickening plop as the bones and organs burst on impact.

The prisoner quickly scanned the room, and found a crate marked simply with a hand grasping a rifle. He cracked it open, and smiled at the grenades within.

"These could come in handy," he muttered to himself, and gathered up half a dozen and strapped them to his belt. Turning to the controls, the convict scanned the labels on them. He nodded, satisfied, and flipped all the controls to the position where they would leave all the functions on and emergency blast walls up. He then took the gun, stepped back, and fired at the controls. The controls burst into debris, sending metal shrapnel everywhere. They burst into flame, and the prisoner stepped out of the control room as it began to burn. He secured the door, and slid down the ladder as fire alarms went off. The spotlight narrowly missed him, and he dodged his way to the base of the second room. He primed a grenade, waited two seconds, and hurled it at the tech's room. It bounced off the glass, and exploded, turning the room into a giant pincushion from all the glass shrapnel. Seconds later, it too burst into flame.

Content that the controls couldn't be reversed easily, he dashed down the stairs on the wall, into the courtyard. He sprinted across the open ground, and the convict's fear became a reality as a guard spotted him and started to open fire. Bullets swept past his head, making him feel the pressure. He felt a bullet pass through his left shoulder, and screamed even as he ran. He raised the gun, feeling the pain in his shoulder, and aimed at the blur he thought was the guard, and pulled the trigger, releasing a staccato of shots. The bullets being shot at him stopped.

He reached the heavily reinforced hangar door that held that helicopter, and planted all of the grenades he had at the base, and ran back to the tower. The shots in the prison were growing louder and more distinct. He didn't have much time.

The convict idled his weapon in a ready position and steadied his aim. The opportune moment presented itself in the form of several reinforcements entering the courtyard. Upon their discovering his position, he emptied the rest of his clip into the grenades. The spread was horrible, but by some incredible stroke of luck, a bullet penetrated a grenade and it detonated, setting off the rest into a violent chain reaction that propelled the convict backwards several yards. He doubled over, and retched from the pain.

After blacking out for several seconds, the convict came to. Looking upwards towards the hangar, his heart sank. Although the door was extremely damaged, bodies of guards strewn across the terrain, the door had managed to hold. Gunfire was rapidly growing more distinct in the distance. Knowing that several guards were mere moments from the courtyard, the convict knew that if he couldn't get into the hangar within the next minute, he would be enveloped in a large firefight, where he would surely lose.

He dashed toward the near-destroyed door, and, in desperation, fired an entire clip into the blackened steel, heedless of the bullets almost hitting him as they ricochet off.

Incredibly, when the smoke cleared, the hole in the door was hanging b and inch. The convict backed up, and letting his desperation infuse his muscles with strength, charged forward and gave the door an over-exaggerated jumping kick. The door buckled in and the convict sprawled into the hangar.

He stood, spat out a tooth and some blood, and ran to the left of the door. He swiped the master key at the panel that was mounted on the door.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Not now! Not now!" The convict cried. The thing just wouldn't respond. He tried all the keys, but none of them worked.

"Screw it," he said, and groped around in the dark until he felt the helicopter cockpit under his hands. He yanked the door open, and smacked the thumb into the scanner. The helicopter flickered to life, and the rotors began to spin. Lights illuminated the dirty hangar and door. He had to be fast and destroy the door before the rotors spun fast enough for it to lift itself into the low ceiling.

He thumbed back the switch on the control yoke, and slammed the door shut. Red words that flashed onto the cockpit window stated WEAPONS SYSTEM ARMED.

He took a deep breath, and switched the missiles.

He gulped, and waited until the window flashed MISSILES ARMED.

The convict counted to three as the rotors began to lift the helicopter.

He pressed the button.

An incredible white light filled his view before the window polarized. He heard a deafening explosion before he went deaf. The door was vaporized, and the helicopter miraculously stayed on it's rails, although it rocked dangerously backward, almost tipping backward.

The convict had to blink for a full minute before his sight started to fade back in. He gasped at the devastation before him.

The missile had morphed the hangar doors into giant ninja stars. The pieces of the hangar doorway had begun to spin through the air as if a massive razor-tipped Frisbee and sliced the prison in half. Strewn all around the wreckage were assorted bodies and body parts.

The convict sat in total shock, and then remembered what he had to do. He flew out of the hangar, rose to one thousand feet, and headed east. The lights of the helicopter illuminated only darkness. Nothing was visible in all directions. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew only one thing.

He was free.

He had escaped.

I know this because that convict was me.

High above the planet's surface, just outside the reach of the stratosphere, a single Zeta-class battle cruiser sneaks across the vast openness of space, casting a shadow onto the surface of Prison Planet Alveron. The prison below that had once been called its owner's sanctum, or base, was a scene of massive chaos as it erupted in riot and flame. Though the scenario was disastrous, the view was, in a sense, spectacular.

Peering through the glass of the greatest window, the man known only as Daetrix, meaning "Demon Lord" in his native Albatross language, watches in almost giddy pleasure as the world collapses in disarray.

"Sir," said his most trusted lieutenant. "The plan worked perfectly. The Hostilis Emperor has been killed in the riot. It would seem you have come to power at last."

Daetrix smiled at these words, knowing that as of this moment, _he_ would be the last leader of the Hostilis, and both of his only feasible threats will have been destroyed in the riot.

No one could stop him now, not even his own army could rebel.

------

Well, there it is, my first chapter in a new series. Even though it is in the Unreal section of its hardly based on the game, borrowing only the action and atmosphere from the game.

For those of you who had no idea what was going on, the main character has a split personality, and some parts of the story are told from a first person perspective, and others are told from a third person perspective.

The Liandri Corporation will make no appearances.


End file.
